


Buried it deep

by CravenWyvern



Series: DS Extras [54]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Comfort, Complicated Relationships, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, headcanons galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:41:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22077142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: It's only a dream, because nightmares were worse.
Relationships: Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve)
Series: DS Extras [54]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/688443
Comments: 3
Kudos: 79





	Buried it deep

It was a cold shot of fear that startled him awake, fear and panic and a slosh of horrible bitter terror and other such emotions that ate away at him, even in his sleep it seems.

It took a moment to remember to breathe, hands clawed in these stupid fur blankets and the stuffy caustrophobia of the tent caving in, great whistling heaves as his chest ached and heart pounded all too hard, too fast, arms shaking as the dream started to unhook itself from him.

It was more of a nightmare, but Maxwell preferred to save that word for the worst visions he got whenever his insomnia let up enough to pass out. Nightmares were of warmer times before the Constant, nightmares were of a different, brighter Constant, nightmares were of a more positive swell of feelings in his chest and where he had no constant headache, where no one's dream voice was so achingly aggravating and where everyone was all too damn happy, all the time...including himself.

This had been no nightmare, only revisited memory. His chest ached in twisted, knotting ways, static in the dark of the tent to buzz about his vision, skin crawling at the feeling of the bedding and his suit and, and his very skin itself, everything felt pins and needles, shuddering at the disgusting feeling of air heaved into his lungs, and the dream fog clung to him and all he could do was claw his hands in the blankets and gasp for some semblance of balance.

His wrists _burned_ , his legs aching and joints pulsing with phantom imaginary pains, a tight feeling about his chest as if to ensnare him, a stinging faintly forgotten noose about his neck that made every breath whistle and rattle in his lungs. Even sitting up, even surrounded by stinking fur blankets and this smelly tents walls, even in this dark touched with chilly fall so close to winter, his dream still left the feeling of the Thrones bindings all encompassing him.

The worst part of memory, not the shackles or whispers or everlasting eternal ragtime, not the void of darkness or bleach white eyes or the scraping tug and cold drop in the back of his mind as something _unfathomable_ graced him with its _incomprehensible_ presence, not the salty air or barren wasteland or even peering upon unsuspecting, gullible pawns, no, the worst part was-

Maxwell felt his heart tug in him, an ache he'd not ever get rid of, and he _missed_ the shadow's embrace, so terribly.

Another rasping exhale escaped him, swallowing thickly as something close enough to emotional agony settled deep in his chest, dip low under his flagging lungs and circle, enclose whatever pitiful thing was left that constituted as his heart. It beat along with his blood, swam in his veins as he grit his teeth for a moment before giving that up, focusing on breathing for now, only that, he still needed to breath.

The shadows had taken that away, back then. Snatched the air left in his lungs right out, pulling, tugging the oxygen out and away from his throat, and he had struggled against the Thrones tight embrace and sobbed near silently as he had thanked Them for the blessing.

Now, without Them, he kept having to remember that it kept him alive. If his heart had required his conscious efforts Maxwell was sure he'd forget how to work it just as quickly.

Right now, his heart throbbed painfully in his chest and with a very shaky, trembling hand Maxwell slowly placed his palm against where he was sure the organ rested below, pressing a bit too hard as he wheezed in a wobbly inhale.

His heart was there, but he'd always doubt its existence. It hadn't beat once in his time upon the Throne.

Exhaling with a tense, strained heave of soft sound, gritting his teeth and letting it escape him with a bit more work, Maxwell pulled his hand away, let it go limp in his lap, gloved fingers twisting in the beefalo fur blanket. Bits of rabbit fluff edged it, frayed now, but it was still winter hardy, as worn and used as it was, and vaguely he pondered on how many nightmares it has bared witness to since its make. 

Another inhale, exhale, still rasped, still a bit gasped as his shivers wracked him in weak waves, but then there was shifting at his side and Maxwell closed his eyes as he realized he hadn't been quiet enough.

"...Maxwell?"

The other man's voice was thick with sleep, a bit slurred even as there was more movement and a bit of pushing to the bedding. Opening his eyes to the darkness, taking in another breath of the stuffy air and then having it catch, stutter out of him at the end, a shiver rolled its way up his spine and Maxwell weathered through another wave of burning faint pains and a horrid knock inside his chest, a pulse in his ribcage. 

The shudder had him hunch forward, head dipping down as he sucked in another breath, as he tried frantically to calm himself, stop, these stupid feelings, false pains that won't stop, wouldn't stop, and all he could do was grit his teeth and try to not move around too much, try to ignore it.

His skin _crawled_ , and it felt as if shadows withered atop him, sliding underneath, twisting and turning his insides as if he was a puzzle for Them to play and only that, nothing else-

There was the pressure of something, something touching him, snapping him from the pit trying to drown him, pulling him right out with a harsh pinching tug, and belatedly Maxwell realized there was a warm hand pressed to his back.

"...Nightmares again, Max?"

Even so sleep muddled it was too, too much, made him flinch and try to lean away from the contact, warm burning currents spreading up and down his spine, equal parts welcoming and despised.

_Why are you doing this?_

That hand was persistent, however, and equally so was its owner. Higgsbury grew quiet at his silence, perhaps reading the distress, Maxwell shutting his eyes tight as his breath rattled, as his lungs whistled in and out. That firm palm started rubbing simple circles, pets, touch, an anchoring down into the here and now, and Maxwell couldn't make himself shrug it off.

_Why are you still here?_

A brief minute of silence between them, interrupted only by his rasping breath, his faint shivers and shudders leftover in him, inside himself and leaking out still, no matter how much he tried to grit his teeth and shove it back. 

It would always return anyhow; why does he keep fighting it?

Then there was a different sound, lower, a heavy sigh escaping from a tired body, and Maxwell froze himself from flinching, in letting it affect him, this arrow daggered sigh that shot true and pierced him all the way through, carrying it around and watching as it got bigger and bigger, more and more blood leaking out of him, but by now if he tried to tear it all away he'd hemorrhage and there would be no one around to try and help.

_As if anyone wanted to anyway-_

Movement, shuffling as the blankets were pushed and pulled at his sides, and before Maxwell could open his eyes to reorientate himself pressure and touch was suddenly all about him, wrapping him firm in a hug. Pulled close, flush against another breathing, living body, and the air left his lungs with a silent burst of a wheeze, the muscles of his face twitching as suddenly the dark heaved all about him and his walls crumbled down.

" 'S alright Max, everyone gets 'em." Wilson's voice was soft, slurred with exhaustion and clinging sleep, his arms wrapped about Maxwell and holding him close, firm. Even as he stiffened up in the embrace, heart knocking in his chest, his throat, pulse too loud in his ears and that horrible, horrible burning tight feeling about his wrists and chest, and Maxwell didn't know if this was making it worse or better, he didn't know. "Just a bad dream, yeah?"

His face twisted, involuntarily as he silently snarled at nothing, only the dark and bedding and tent walls, only him and the other man, only this, and yet there was an ache in his chest and a pale yearning for such that he could never have and it, it-

It _hurt_.

His next breath was shuttered, rasping faint sound in his throat, any false semblance of balance he had previously attained gone for good, and for a second he was afraid to let it out, let the breath escape him, pull out of him like it had done so long ago, when the shadows had whispered and cooed soothing promises to him, _this will make you feel better_ , and he had believed Them and it, it _had_ , in a sense, tethered down and unable to move an inch, unable to do anything every other stupid little pawn could do so normally. 

He hadn't felt much, down there, and the emptiness left behind, oh how it tempted him now with the memory. It hadn't hurt, then, no matter what he did, what he decided to do with his time. 

Nothing had unsettled him, no moral shame or second thoughts, nothing graced him but faint amusement, at his entertainment, and that had been all he had learned to care for. 

Gasping for air like this, floundering in forgotten panic and fear that felt so displaced, not for this present, some sort of past lingering that only now just caught up, trembling and aching all over, Maxwell felt as if he'd trade it all over again just to make it _stop_.

A sob burst from his throat, his chest wheezing as it simpered into something thin and pitiful, rasping another breath in a shaky rush as whatever weak willed dam he had left cracked a bit more, let out a bit more, pressure building in some far off piece of his mind and clawing up the insides of his chest, and Maxwell squeezed his eyes shut, favored this dark instead of the grey of the tent as he started to cry.

It hurt just as much, the little strength he had seeping out from his limbs and fighting to grit his jaw into a snarl, trying to suck in enough air into battered old lungs and make himself stop, _stop_ , but those arms about him squeezed a bit firmer, shifting as his companion pressed himself close, and whatever will he had in that front crumbled and dusted away under the face of warm and solid comfort, pressure and touch.

He felt when Wilson shifted, pressed the side of his face to his back, nose poking his shoulder blade as the man mumbled a moment, still sleep addled, still holding to him either way, and it made the ache in him throb tenfold for whatever reason, hissing a wheeze before another sob wracked through it, tore it down to let the wave pour out right after.

He _hated_ it, the shuddering feeling of tears down his face, bubbling in his eyes even as he tried to tough it out, failing spectacularly with the other man as sleepy witness, his gloved hands clawed near painfully tight into the bedding, that warmth against him encompassing, soft, solid.

Maxwell _hated_ how it made him feel, hated it with a passion that burned in his throat and made him sob harder, curled up with a too tired audience anchoring him down, and he _hated_ it all, everything involved, hate hate _hate_ -

His chest rattled loud, a whine in his aged lungs he couldn't control, couldn't silence, and there was a moment where he didn't quite know what was happening as Maxwell belatedly realized he was being rocked.

Slow, back and forth, twisting nausea in his gut with how much he, he _hated_ , but Wilson's voice slowly cut through, still sleepy thick, still slurred and yet attentive enough, just enough right now.

"You're alright, Maxwell, you're fine. Nothing bad happening, jus' a dream." The man murmured against him, mumbled into his suit as his breath eased through the thin fabric, warmed up his back. "You'll be fine, I promise."

His soft words were just mutterings, just things to be said, over and over again in varying situations, and while Maxwell's next breath was just as stuttered, wheezed as before, coughing out the strained tears and trying to bottle it all back up again, the slow back and forth leaning and the constant warm support, this sense of touch and interaction, it was near enough to almost be soothing.

Almost, he recognized, another shudder up his spine as a warbling soft sound escaped him, not cut off soon enough, but Wilson held him and rocked him and whispered sleepy comforting words, just to him, for him, right now.

 _Why_ , he wanted to ask, wanted to beg, because the ache was still there and the yearning was still there and he, he wanted to claw another hold to the shadows and grip Them tight enough to accept him back, to shear away all these horrible emotions and thoughts and empty him out into not feeling once again, let him not have to go through this anymore. It was a cowards way out, but he couldn't help himself.

That power, those boons were not his any longer, and tasting them once just made the tempting all the sweeter.

Yet Wilson was here, holding to him and hushing him even as the man obviously wished to sleep, and the shadows, They were not the sort for this, this physical comfort, were They?

They could soothe him into feeling nothing, while this horribly warm, comforting man holding him in a tight embrace could make Maxwell feel near everything that was even left alive in him, and it couldn't have been much, not at all.

His shivers were subsiding, face damp and still not able to stop the flow of tears, but the rattle in his lungs eased as his breathing slowed, as _he_ slowed. His throat felt sore, swallowing painfully as he rasped air in and out, the pressure easing up now, let off the mental block that continued to slowly crumble inside himself, but it held and he held and, and the man against him held just as firm, perhaps even more so.

Another sigh eased out of the other man's lungs, warm air puffed against his back, a low shiver up his spine as Maxwell bowed his head, breathes easing, everything easing as it so suddenly pulled away from him and his choking insides, draining the flood that had been suffocating his mind. 

It pulled all the rest of the faint bits of strength in him out, leaving him feeling both too heavy and weightless, eyes closing as he heaved a breath, inhale exhale, and after a moment the slight rocking motions slowed to a stop.

"Let's lay down, yeah?" The murmur to his back shifted, rose as a warm nose poked the back of his neck, Wilson's arms shifting to loosen about him a bit as breathe puffed to his bare skin.

Maxwell shivered, eyes closed tight, before with a nod and wheezing exhale he started to move. The other man untangled from him, but not too far away, still close as he helped guide Maxwell back down to the rest of the bedding, tugging up the blankets about them both in slow, sleepy wide movements.

Before he could figure a semi comfortable position, the leftover weight in him dragging and heavy as it filled the empty expanse the tears had left in him, Wilson's voice spoke up once more, tired and slow, questioning.

"You want to...?" 

The invite was almost enough to bring that horrible roll of emotion back up, hissing a wheeze of an exhale as he shoved it back down, fought the wobbling snarl on his face, but Wilson's clawed hands were gentle, clammy dull things in all their warmth, and he didn't fight it as he wiggled close, let the other man wrap him up once more.

He was gently tugged forward, guided together as he buried his face to the man's shoulder, shuddering in a breath as his arms were carefully nudged away from crossing his chest, allowing the other man to bring them together into something close enough to a hug to make Maxwell's heart _hurt_.

His own hands were hesitant, and weak, but he did at least try, clinging a hold to the man's undershirt, the vest having been put away for the night. The attempt made Wilson huff a warm exhale, pull him closer with another murmur, thick with sleep.

"No more nightmares, okay?" Held together like this, legs tangled and breathing in Wilson's smell, wrapped up by him with his eyes shut tight, only him, only Wilson and him, and Maxwell weakly nodded against the shoulder he had pressed his face to, the dip of the man's warm neck and every other warm, solid piece of him holding Maxwell together. "Just sleep, Max. It'll be better in the morning."

This time the shuddered sigh left his old lungs instead, faintly rattling as the tenseness went out in one pull, at the sound of those words, and he doubted how valid the things said to him were, he always would, but the air left him in one heavy, too long held in pull.

And was all too easily inhaled once again, warm air, warm touch, soothing his lungs as the oxygen graced him again and again, didn't leave him as an empty husk, not any longer. The chest pressed to his did the same, without the worry, the shredded trust, the ever constant paranoia, and Maxwell kept breathing, easing into an exhausted calm, not quite in sync but close enough to the man who held him so firmly.

He didn't think he'd be able to, but as Wilson quieted into sleep Maxwell slowly drifted off after him.

His breath rattled in his lungs, faintly, and that was far better than nothing at all.


End file.
